


Don't Shoot the Messenger

by FreshBrains



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Community: rounds_of_kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Marking, Possessive Behavior, Protectiveness, Safer Sex, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 19:50:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3086591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was hard for Jim to drink in the sight of a handsome man undressing when said handsome man was so angry with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Shoot the Messenger

**Author's Note:**

> For the LJ Rounds of Kink New Years Mini-Round prompt combo: Envoy, well-fucked.
> 
> Teeny-tiny hint of daddy/boy kink, blink and you'll miss it. Mild spoilers up to 1.10 "Lovecraft," takes place post-episode.

Jim loved watching Alfred get undressed.  It was a guilty pleasure, something he allowed himself at the end of the day, like a stiff drink.  Alfred was a buttoned-up man, made of layers and sharp corners and heavy fabrics, and the perfunctory, clean way he shed his daily attire in the small, dimly-lit confines of his bedroom never failed to have Jim in his bed in no time.

But it was hard for Jim to drink in the sight of a handsome man undressing when said handsome man was so angry with him.

“I’d never tell you to back off, Jim.  I’m not that kind of man and you aren’t Master Bruce, you’re a grown man who can do whatever he bloody well pleases.”  Alfred unbuttoned his waistcoat, the buttons dwarfed in his large, rough hands.  He had a small clotheshorse set up near the closet and he never failed to put away his suit neatly every evening, even if Jim was already naked and waiting on the bed.

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Jim said, sitting down and untying his shoes before kicking them into the corner.  He had no qualms about his clothing; he shed it and let it land wherever, much to Alfred’s chagrin.

Alfred glanced over.  “But,” he slid off his waistcoat, the muscles of his broad shoulders working beneath the navy fabric, “I’m failing to understand exactly _why_ you’re still running for that damn department when they’ve managed to piss all over you in every way possible.”

Jim rolled his neck.  “I’m not working for them.  I’m doing Harvey a favor.”

“Harvey, yeah.” Alfred unbuckled his belt with one hand, sliding it through the loops.  “I’m sure this is all for Harvey.”

“Come on,” Jim said, resting back on the bed, even though he was still fully clothed.  After his first week learning the ropes at Arkham and barely even seeing the actual floor of the prison, he was exhausted and restless at the same time, itching for something to _happen_.  He knew Arkham was in complete shambles and his job allowed him no way to actually improve the place—he just needed to keep it in line.  He missed having a purpose at the GCPD.  “I don’t go in guns blazing.  I’m just an envoy.  A harmless guy without a badge.  They probably think I’m pathetic, walking in there doing the dirty work.”

“There’s nothing pathetic about you,” Alfred grumbled.  Jim stared at the ceiling and listened to the whispering click of the buttons being undone of Alfred’s trousers.  “You couldn’t even fake pathetic.  You’re too damn earnest.”

Jim snorted.  “Earnest.  More like anxious.”

“Either way you see it,” Alfred said, the bed dipping under his weight, “I don’t like you out there, at Harvey’s beck and call.  Go to Maroni, go to Mooney’s bar…it’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

Jim leaned up and crawled in his knees on the bed towards Alfred, sliding his hands over Alfred’s shoulders.  “Now who’s anxious?”

Alfred grunted, leaning back into Jim.  “I already worry about Master Bruce day in and day out, and now Selina is off to God knows where.  I thought…”

Jim smoothed his hands over the warm cotton of Alfred’s undershirt and pressed a kiss to the base of Alfred’s neck.  “You thought I was the one you didn’t have to worry about.”

“We’re never going to be that couple,” Alfred said, but there was no sadness in his voice, just resignation.  “That isn’t our life.”

“It isn’t,” Jim said, pressing his face into Alfred’s neck and breathing in his cologne, “but at least we’re used to it.”  The house was completely quiet, all the rooms dark and the alarms on, Bruce tucked safely into bed across the house (or at least that’s where Alfred left him).  Jim bit down gently on the skin between neck and shoulder, getting a low growl out of Alfred.  “I’m starting to think you’re getting jealous.”

“What the hell do I have to be jealous about?”  Jim could tell Alfred was only seconds away from turning around and flipping him onto his back.

“Me spending so much time with Bullock,” Jim teased, hands wandering down to Alfred’s strong pectorals.  “And the other Harvey, come to think of it.  So many Harveys, one mildly handsome ex-detective…”  He laughed when Alfred finally gave in and had him on his back in no time, hovering over him with his hands on either side of Jim’s head on the mattress.

“If you want to make me jealous, you’ll have to do better than Harvey Bullock,” Alfred said dryly, body pressing down onto Jim’s.  Despite his words, his pupils were dark, his face serious, and Jim shivered beneath him.

“Dent is pretty good-looking,” Jim goaded, a crooked smile on his face—the one he knew drove Alfred crazy when they were alone.  “I can tell he has a few screws loose, though.”

“I think,” Alfred said, reaching down between their bodies to snap open the button on Jim’s pants, “that we’re done talking about the Harveys for tonight.”

“Agreed,” Jim said, and surged up for a kiss, Alfred meeting him halfway.  It was hard and primal, skipping several steps from sweet right to hot, the way they always kissed.  They got so little time alone that it was all or nothing; Alfred’s mouth warm and skillful, taking in the kiss like they’d been doing it together for years.  He cupped one large hand around the back of Jim’s neck, holding him steady while he pressed biting kisses down Jim’s jaw and throat.

“Get this off,” Jim said, already panting as he scrabbled at the back of Alfred’s undershirt.

Alfred pulled back and yanked the shirt off with one arm, revealing his broad, scarred chest, lightly furred with sparse greying hair.  He stood for a moment to shed his boxers.  “How are you still dressed, boy?” Sometimes he slipped with Jim, spoke to him like he would to Bruce, but it always sent a bolt of arousal from Jim’s stomach to the soles of his feet. 

“Help me out then,” Jim answered, pulling at his loosened tie. 

Alfred made quick work of Jim’s shirt and trousers, fisting the material into a crumpled ball and tossing it over the bed into the floor.  Jim counted it as a small victory, making Alfred so out of his mind he didn’t even chide Jim for being messy or unkempt like he usually did—even _participating_ in the spectacle.  “I like you best here,” Alfred said before pressing his mouth to the base of Jim’s bare throat, right above his sternum, and gently pulling the skin between his teeth.  “In my bed, naked.  Can’t get into any trouble here.” He yanked Jim’s underwear down his hips and chucked them on the floor, pulling Jim’s legs apart to wrap around his waist.

“I’m sure we could think of something,” Jim said, arching his back.  He could feel Alfred hard against the inside of his thigh, wanted to reach down and wrap his hand around Alfred’s cock, but he knew Alfred would just press his hands against the mattress.

“Normally I’d put my mouth on you more,” Alfred said, out of breath as Jim ran his hands over his back, “but I’ve been wanting to be inside you since you arrived for supper, and I’m not waiting any longer.”  Alfred rutted down onto Jim, Jim’s cock pressed up against his stomach.

Jim inhaled sharply, head thrown back against the duvet.  “By all means,” he managed, fumbling for the old oak table next to Alfred’s bed.

Alfred reached over and opened the drawer with one hand, his lips back on Jim’s neck.  He bit down with just the right amount of pressure, like he was just reassuring Jim that he was there and not going anywhere.  “Up,” he said, and Jim obeyed, sliding his knees higher to bracket Alfred’s waist.  “Get yourself ready, love.”

Jim nodded and took the bottle of lubricant from Alfred, noticing that Alfred warmed it up in his fist before handing it off.  His slicked two fingers and brought his hand down, tracing the rim of his hole with one finger before slowly teasing inside, his body languid and relaxed.  He used to be nervous in bed before Alfred, needing a lot of time to prep with previous partners, even Barbara when she used her strap-on.  But Alfred’s presence alone put him at ease.  He slid his finger up to the second knuckle, the angle a little awkward, but he still groaned at the perfect pressure.

Alfred exhaled hard above him, like the breath had been punched out of him.  “God, you dirty…” he didn’t even finish the sentence, just stared, eyes intense.  “I’m going to take my time with you someday.  Put you over my lap and open you with my fingers until you’re gagging for it.”

“God,” Jim grit out, biting his lip.  He worked another finger in alongside the first, curving them so the stretch was perfect but still not reaching his prostate.  “I’ll hold you to that.”  His hips ached where he held his knees apart and he slowly removed his fingers, body clenching at the emptiness.  He already felt sticky and overwhelmed, body aching for Alfred, wanting to be completely covered by Alfred’s warm strength.  He nodded, but Alfred already knew he was ready.

Alfred sat up on his knees for a moment and ripped the condom wrapper open with his teeth.  “On your back or on your belly?”

Jim’s heart raced; it always did when Alfred loomed above him like that, asking how he’d like to be fucked.  Alfred was so calm all the time, so ready to take on anything the world gave him, but he was an entirely different animal in bed.  “My back.  Like this.”  Jim saw Alfred’s hands shake just a little as he rolled the condom down his cock.

“Can’t even be up on the pillows,” Alfred said, a small laugh in his throat.  They were still on top of the covers and across the bed like two teenagers. 

Jim clutched Alfred’s shoulders, feeling the sweat dewing on his skin.  “Get inside me, come on.”

Alfred leaned down and kissed Jim when he finally pressed his cockhead up against Jim’s hole, the blunt pressure making Jim groan and arch off the bed.  “There you go,” Alfred huffed into Jim’s neck, voice strained.  He pushed in inch by inch, so honey-slow it made Jim’s skin ache.

Jim hitched his leg higher up on Alfred’s waist, wanting to be closer to him, to lose himself in this infuriating, surprising man who never gave him the benefit of the doubt.  Before he could even bite out a _harder_ , Alfred filled him with one smooth thrust, setting his hips into a hard, languid rhythm with no pretense.

Jim pressed his fingers into Alfred’s back, apparently too hard since Alfred said, “Hands on the bed.”  Jim obeyed mindlessly, his cock hard against his stomach and already begging to be touched.  Alfred pulled Jim’s arms up next to his head and held them there by the wrists, an easy, painless pressure that wouldn’t be difficult for Jim to get out of.  “Good boy.”

Jim knew he was exactly where he wanted to be—maybe not for the rest of his life, because it was Gotham, and who knew where they’d be in a year of five.  But nothing before that had ever felt quite so right.  Nothing but having Alfred above him, bearing down on him, holding his wrists to the bed as he fucked into him, hard and strong.  “I’m close,” he said, burying his face in the musk-scented skin of Alfred’s bicep.  Alfred’s cock pressed up against his prostate, sending a bolt of pleasure up his spine and down his tailbone.

Alfred released one wrist and lowered his hand between their bodies.  Only a few slow, firm pulls and Jim was clenching around him and biting into his arm, trying to keep quiet as he came.  Alfred groaned, bucked into Jim’s tight body twice, and followed soon after.

They never quite made it to the pillows, even though Alfred managed to stumble to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and get a cloth for Jim.  “I’m too damn old for this,” Alfred groaned as he lay back on the bed, an arm firm around Jim’s waist.

“That makes two of us,” Jim said, reaching over the turn off the lamp without wriggling out from beneath Alfred’s arm.  He slowed his breathing, still boneless and stupid from coming, and completely ready to sleep.  He pressed a kiss to Alfred’s shoulder before closing his eyes.

“Sleep well, love,” Alfred whispered into the dark room.

*

Jim woke to his cell alarm blaring across the room, still in his jacket pocket.  He got up with a groan, glad he was alone in Alfred’s small room.  He was _not_ a morning person, something Alfred found out the hard way.

His lower back and neck hurt from sleeping without a pillow all night, but the rest of his body ached in an entirely pleasant ways.  His thighs felt strained and stretched, and he would have to sit carefully later and hopefully avoid Bruce’s inquisitive stare from across the supper table.  After tugging on his undershirt and pants and heading into the bathroom to clean up, he hardly recognized himself in the mirror—hair mussed, purpling love-bites on his neck and collarbone, lips swollen from slightly-stubbly kisses.  He buttoned his shirt to the top and hoped his dark tie would offset the more visible marks.

“Morning, kid,” he greeted Bruce downstairs, sliding past him into the kitchen to help Alfred.

“You’ve got a bruise on your neck,” Bruce said in lieu of a greeting, biting into a blueberry scone.  His face was kind and blank, showing no sign of knowing what the bruise was from, but Jim flushed anyways. 

“Yeah, I’ll take care of it,” Jim said, rushing into the kitchen and almost bumping into Alfred.

“Grab the dish of eggs from the counter and bring them in here,” Alfred said, pressing a kiss to the side of Jim’s face before entering the dining room.  He did a brief double-take, eyes lingering on Jim’s neck.

Jim fetched the tray from the kitchen, but before he could make his way back to the dining room, Alfred came back, wiping his hands on his apron.  He stopped in front of Jim and took the tray, leaning in close to whisper, “Whoever you’re visiting today will know you won’t be going home with them.  I see I made sure of that.”

Jim swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, and nodded.  Alfred wasn’t usually the possessive type, but when he got that gleam in his eyes, Jim knew he was serious about it.  “I’ll be careful.  Always am.” Arkham would be easy, but his lunch-break trip to Fish’s would be more difficult.

“That’s a bloody lie, James,” Alfred said, kissing Jim once more before backing out into the dining room.  “Coffee’s on the stove, take some before you’re off.  I’ll see you tonight.”

Jim nodded and smiled, grabbing his coffee with one hand and pressing one of the kiss-bruises on his neck with the other.  He was ready for whatever Gotham had coming for him.


End file.
